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k-zuzulibrary · 6 months ago

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song mingi 𖹭 reader

who are you?

story synopsis: you, a determined college student, are starting fresh this semester — cutting off toxic friends and focusing on your goals, including creating your own video game when you cross paths with mingi, a vibrant and cheeky guy from your art history class, your interactions begin with an awkward and teasing exchange. as your dynamic shifts from annoyance to unexpected connection, you find yourself caught up in mingi's playful persistence and your growing curiosity about him, despite your best efforts to keep your distance.

content: typical college romance, significant hate to significant others, robotic!reader, lighthearted fluff, probably an inaccurate depiction of art majors (even as an art major myself), not proofread, lowercase intended.

zuzu's note: hey! this is long overdue from this post LMAO. a small something to fulfill my carnal need for romance w/mingi. it started off as a oneshot but now i am making it a series. inspired by the kbl semantic error, so credits and all that<333

main masterlist.

you stood in the quiet corner of the art gallery, the soft hum of muffled voices fading into the background as your eyes remained glued to the painting in front of you titled "hop." it was a striking piece — bold strokes of color, carefully chaotic, yet it held a balance that tugged at something deep within you. your heart swelled with admiration, the kind reserved for things that felt like they could tell your secrets if you stared long enough.

the small placard below the painting displayed the artist’s name in elegant script. song mingi. next to it, a phone number was scribbled in pen on the gallery brochure pinned to the wall. it was as if the artist himself had left breadcrumbs, daring someone to reach out. you fumbled for your phone, angling it to capture the number before anyone else noticed.

“that’s my favorite too,” a voice said, uncomfortably close.

you jumped, nearly dropping your phone. you turned your head to find a tall figure leaning casually against the wall beside you, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. he nodded toward the painting as though the two of you were old friends sharing a secret.

“do you like it?” he asked.

“it’s beautiful,” you replied stiffly, edging away. “i was just admiring it...”

“want a picture?” he asked, his grin widening.

you raised an eyebrow. “of the painting?”

“no,” he said, that maddening smirk still in place. “of me. with it. you know, the whole ‘art and artist’ kind of vibe.”

you blinked, incredulous. you gave him a once-over, noting the messy hair, casual clothes, and sketchy skateboard that screamed wannabe cool. an artist? not likely. just another obnoxious student fishing for attention, you thought.

“pass,” you said curtly. without waiting for a response, you snapped a quick photo of the phone number, rolled your eyes, and walked away. as you disappeared into the crowd, the man chuckled softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. he glanced up at the painting — his painting — and muttered to himself, “tough crowd.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

the new semester was finally here, and you were ready for a fresh start. after months of dealing with toxic friends who drained your energy and motivation, you had decided that enough was enough. this semester, you promised yourself that things would be different. you had cut ties, reorganized your priorities, and — most importantly — you crafted a brand-new schedule that fit the new you perfectly.

your first class was at 5:30 in the morning, a time that scared most students away. but not you. to you, the early hour was a badge of determination. at 3:30 AM sharp, your alarm blared, and you sprang into action.

your routine was methodical, almost meditative. a quick stretch to shake off the sleep, a hot shower to wake your senses, and a mug of coffee strong enough to jolt you into productivity. you pulled your hair into a neat ponytail, threw on a hoodie and slacks, and grabbed your carefully packed bag. by 4:30 AM, you were stepping into the quiet, still classroom, where the air felt almost sacred, untouched by the chaos of the day to come.

your eyes immediately sought out your favorite spot — third seat by the window, a perfect balance of sunlight and solitude. you claimed it as yours by sheer determination, arriving an hour early to ensure no one else dared to take it. and you planned on doing that every monday to wednesday for the rest of the semester.

as you slid into the chair, you sighed in contentment, your heart swelling with the promise of a fresh beginning.

your plans for the semester went far beyond simply surviving your classes. you were building your own video game, a project that had been a dream for years. every pixel, every line of code — you wanted it to be perfect. the artwork you had admired at the gallery just days ago lingered in your mind, its vibrant strokes and unique style calling out to you.

that work wasn’t just beautiful — it was exactly what you needed. you could already picture it in your game, bringing your world to life in a way you couldn’t achieve alone (something you had to learn to accept). your goal this semester was clear: find the artist, collaborate with them, and create something extraordinary together.

little did you know that the artist was closer than you thought.

the seat next to you remained empty for the rest of the class — probably because your aura wasn’t exactly the most welcoming. you probably should’ve adjusted to your new schedule before committing to a two-hour class right after your 5:30 AM start. the second you stepped out of the classroom, you yawned and darted to where you knew the nearest vending machine stood. after buying your usual, kq energy (black coffee in a can), you slid into a booth nearby and decided it was time to phone the number. it was now or never.

it rang.

at the same time, a phone in the park rang as well. you searched the area, only to spot a familiar tall man in vibrant colors — and a skateboard. you watched as he fished his phone from his back pocket, glanced at the screen, and promptly declined the call. you checked your phone — your call had also been declined. hell no. it couldn't be him? you glanced back at him, but he was already looking at the menu, placing an order.

you let out a sigh and set your phone down, opting to take out your laptop instead. you needed to get a head start on the essay from class. better sooner than later.

just as you started to focus, a stranger slid into the seat across from you, a casual grin on his face as he tapped the edge of his coffee cup.

you glanced up, mildly surprised, "you again?"

"i’ve been here the whole time," he replied, his voice teasing, "you just haven’t noticed."

you rolled your eyes, "what do you want?"

he leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with amusement. "i was thinking… we’ve never really had a proper conversation. you know, beyond your ‘nobody’ assessment at the gallery the other day."

you didn’t flinch. "i didn’t say that."

"you thought it, though."

"...and what makes you think we're obligated to have a proper conversation?" you asked, slamming your laptop down and locking eyes with him.

"i’m in your art history class."

"i just had art history." you narrowed your eyes. "you weren’t there. i’m sure i would've recognized your vibrance anywhere."

"aw, you recognize my vibrance?" he looked at the colors on his lapels, smirking smugly.

"i don’t like sleazes who skip their first class of the semester." you opened your laptop again, getting back to work.

"hey, i couldn’t make it. i had an interview and emailed the professor 12 days early, we’re all good." he reassured and shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

you paused, absorbing that information. "oh."

"oh." he mimicked you in a teasing tone. "okay. fine. so tell me, what’s your least favorite color?" his question came out of nowhere, playful but sharp.

you blinked, taken aback. "my least favorite color?"

"yeah, you know. just something you don’t like. something you’d never wear."

you stared at him, wondering if he was serious or just messing with you. finally, you sighed. "orange. definitely orange. i hate orange. my second-grade teacher loved it, and i never understood why."

he let out a low whistle. "that’s a pretty strong opinion. are you sure?"

"positive." you narrowed your eyes. "now, why would you even ask me that?"

he shrugged, his grin widening. "i was just curious. you seem like the type to have strong opinions about random stuff."

you tilted your head, lips quirking upward. "and you seem like the type to ask stupid questions."

he laughed, leaning in closer. "hey, no such thing as a stupid question. and no need to get defensive. i'm just trying to get to know you better."

you raised an eyebrow. "i think we both know you’re only doing this to annoy me."

"is it working?"

you shot him a side-eye. "unfortunately, yes." you begin typing away at your laptop again, eventually, you paused and stared at him as he fiddled with the cup holder of his hot drink. "by the way," you mused, a slight pout on your lips. "were you really the artist of the work 'hop' in the gallery the other day?"

"yeah... and I just came from an interview at nexora interactive this morning," mingi said matter-of-factly.

nexora? your dream company? for a moment, his immature, irritating image faded, replaced by a faint flicker of... something admirable.

"and," he continued, a sly grin spreading across his face, "were you the one who just rang my phone?" he dangled his phone in front of your face, the gesture obnoxiously playful as his tongue skimmed across his teeth. then, he giggled.

annoying mingi was back.

"why'd you call me? wanna work together or something?" he teased, his tone light but teasingly smug.

"no," you replied curtly, scoffing as you turned your focus back to your laptop. "not anymore..." you mumbled under your breath.

why not? you couldn’t decide. maybe it was the way he dressed like an overgrown kid. maybe it was his relentless antics. or maybe — just maybe — it was because you couldn’t bring yourself to imagine working with someone who might actually land a job at nexora freaking interactive.

or perhaps you just decided, right then and there, that you officially hated song mingi.

"no." you scoffed, your attention returning to your laptop. "not anymore..." you grumbled. why not? you asked yourself. was it because you didn't expect him to dress like a child? act like a child? or was it out of consideration if he actually gets a job at nexora fucking interactive? maybe it was because you just decided out of nowhere that you officially hate this man.

"awww! you wanted to work with me?" he pointed at himself adorably, in disbelief. "me?" he repeated innocently and pushed what little hair he had behind his ear and he smiled sweetly. "i'm flattered..."

suddenly he perked up — like a dog hearing another dog bark.

"i never caught your name."

"you'll never hear it from me." and you slid your laptop back into your pouch, you stood up and you left your drink as you dashed for the exit.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

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